Mia Joy. It means “My Joy.” At the time we bequeathed her name, we were still novice, starry eyed parents with the false notion that we could somehow guide her destiny in this world. Mirrored after the traditions in scripture of triumphant characters being driven by their title, like Jacob, the “heal snatcher”, as if the Lord himself named them retroactively, I was certain “My Joy” would fulfill the duties of her name. Well, she has. Unfortunately, I didn’t factor in her interpretation. You see, my intentions were selfish, “MY” Joy. Hers were equally so, interpreting “MY” as her own, “Mia’s Joy.” And anyone who meets her can see she is the embodiment of bliss (and relentless devotion to fun and amphetamine levels of energy and the definition of exhausting). But recently, I have wondered if an even more appropriate name might have been “My Humility”, (although it doesn’t have quite the same ring to it). You see, she is by far the biggest champion of grounding my ego, through her constant reminders that I am not in control, and allows me to be grateful to step down from that expectation. This truth was illustrated yet again in the following encounter with my tiny master of modesty. Earlier this week, I was immersed in mommy recess with some fellow inmates in the institution of insanity known as homeschooling, while our little learners escaped to their real classroom, the playground. In a rare incident of pride, a distinct contrast to my expertise in self-loathing, I was boasting about our big plans for our newest learning adventure. “This morning we studied the lives and work of Matisse and Picasso and created divided self-portraits of the dueling masters and…” I was uncharacteristically silent for a moment, as I set aside my pride to notice a look of shock spreading across my audience. Of course, I assumed it must be a sign of their appreciation of our depth of learning, impressed with our cultural focus, disbelief at my budding geniuses potential. But as their looks of surprise evolved into concern, and then eventually disgust, my silence was interrupted by a familiar, “Look Mama!” And as I turned around to see my mini master of humility with her shoes removed, sprawled across the filth of the floor, proudly sucking on her muddy toes, I remembered who was actually being schooled. And THAT is why my name should be “Queen of Good Intentions”, mother to the “Master of Humility”…my joy!